


Lullaby

by Leloi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Parent-Child Relationship, Parental Love, Post Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloi/pseuds/Leloi
Summary: From the moment she met him on that hot Miami day, she loved him.  It wasn’t a romantic love.  If she had been 30 years younger and he had been just a little bit bisexual, maybe.  But she was old enough to be his mum and he was definitely gay.  That didn’t stop her from adopting him as the child she would never have.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: Mentions of drug abuse and depression.
> 
> I love Mrs. Hudson. What must she think, watching events in season 4? I also had this little idea that the reason Sherlock needed a flatmate in the first place was because she told him to find one.

From the moment she met him on that hot Miami day, she loved him. It wasn’t a romantic love. If she had been 30 years younger and he had been just a little bit bisexual, maybe. But she was old enough to be his mum and he was definitely gay. That didn’t stop her from adopting him as the child she would never have. 

“What’s your name, dear?”

“Sherlock Holmes.” 

“What are you doing in Miami, Florida?”

The young man looked away with something of embarrassment on his face. He was there for the drugs.

And then she found out how brilliant he was at solving crimes and put her drug dealing, murderous husband away for good.

There were many things she learned about the young man when she met him… Sherlock was too clever. That cleverness alienated him from other people. Drugs were his means of coping with the alienation he felt. He craved companionship. In other words… Sherlock was his own worst enemy when he was out on his own. She knew eventually the loneliness would lead to a drug overdose.

They kept in touch for several years. When she returned to London he was there to show her around as she had shown him around South Beach.

“How are you, dear?” 

Sherlock shook his head and stared down at the cup of tea he wasn’t really drinking. “I have been evicted.” There was embarrassment on his face. Whatever he had done to be evicted he felt it had been his own fault.

“Is it the drugs?”

“I’ve stopped using. I’ve been solving cases for someone at the Yard and we agreed I wouldn’t…”

His admission made her happy. Really, he was far too clever and talented to waste away. “I have rooms to rent.” 

His eyes focused on her, full of hope.

“I have one request.”

The hope in his eyes dulled just a little bit.

Gently she reached out to pat his hand. “I will give you the rooms if you find someone to share them with.” 

“A flatmate?” There was revulsion on his face. 

“Find someone and I’ll let you have them.” How long could work with the Yard sustain him and keep him from his coping mechanisms? It was best to push him to find someone.

And so she was pleasantly surprised when he called to inform her he had found someone. Immediately he moved his things into the other flat in her building, confident his flatmate would accept the space without seeing it. Sherlock brought in an army surgeon and she could tell he was instantly smitten by the older man.

Of course John Watson often denied he was gay, but he never said he was straight either. She knew for sure that John was not straight when he was heartbroken by Sherlock’s jump from the rooftop of Bart’s. 

When Sherlock returned John left and she was helpless to watch her dear boy sink into deep depression at the loss of the one he had loved. She tried to give warning but John was intent on marrying and Sherlock was intent on sinking into his despair. When Sherlock started to use drugs again it broke her heart.

“There are others out there, dear.” She had whispered to him one evening as he listlessly plucked at his violin, ignoring the tea she had set out for him.

He raised his eyes to look at her and she knew there would only ever be John Watson for him. In that moment she wondered if she should have insisted that he bring a flatmate to take the rooms. How was she to know he would be instantly enamored with the military doctor? 

Helplessly she watched him slip away further and further as John focused on his life with Mary. The more John settled into domestic life the more Sherlock worked himself into a frenzy. Her poor boy was suffering and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

When Mary died it was as if Sherlock died right along with her. The man she had known was gone, leaving only an empty husk that blindly stumbled through existence. She had seen Mary’s last case for Sherlock and watched as it sent him into a spiral of depression. Her beloved boy was killing himself for the love of a man who barely even acknowledged him. 

It was too much. John Watson had to understand what he was doing to Sherlock. She would force him to see what he wanted to deny. Sherlock’s heart was killing him. She would make them see. So she loaded up her boy into the boot of her car and forced John to acknowledge what he had done. 

When they returned home everyone took turns watching over Sherlock, making sure he wouldn’t slip away and allow the darkness to take him. There were cuts and bruises all over him. No one would tell her where they came from. But when she spoke to John about them there was a hint of regret in his eyes.

And then she came to know that the darkness had a name and a face. It haunted her poor, dear boy. It filled him with loss and hopelessness. 

None of them spoke of what happened after the flat was bombed. In Sherlock’s eyes there was deep concern as if he feared what would happen to her. Martha knew something was wrong. All she could do was accept his kiss and hug. Gently she patted his back and tightened her hold a little bit more to give him what little she could offer him.

When they returned, no one spoke of where they had been or what they had done. The flat was cleaned and repaired. John returned, bringing Rosie. And she watched Sherlock stumble through domestic routine, filling the role as uncle and guardian to the small child… Martha worried that the darkness would once again return to claim her dear boy. Her boy. Love changes people… Platonic love, romantic love… Parental love. Her boy was slowly learning to accept different kinds of love. The way he looked at his doctor was different than the way he looked at his doctor’s child… And it was different from the way he looked at her. 

It was late when she checked in on Sherlock and Rosie. John was out, leaving the two alone. Sherlock lay on the couch with Rosie curled up on his chest. His hand lightly soothed her back. “How are you, dear?”

Sherlock looked up and gave her half a smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re taking good care of her.”

“Of course.” Sherlock answered. “She’s a Watson.” Bowing his head, he pressed his face to the top of her head. 

It warmed her heart to see him like that. “Call me if you need anything.”

Sherlock flashed her a smile and she smiled back.

Her boy was once again smitten. Who knew a small child could awaken parental feelings of love and protection? Martha knew that love very well. Sherlock loved Rosie as Martha loved Sherlock. “Goodnight, dear.”

“Goodnight.”

\--Fin


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